Storytelling Questions, Answered.
- Story Basics13 questions
- Making Stories on a Small Budget5 questions
- Short Videos, Series and Pitching4 questions
- Dialogue, Actors and Revision4 questions
Story Basics
13 questions
A story works when the audience follows a person who wants something and cares what happens to them. Three things drive almost every story that works: a clear goal, stakes (what the character loses if they fail) and urgency (why it has to happen now). When a story feels slow, check which of the three is missing. This is covered in chapters 1 to 3 of The Story Is the Budget.
Stakes are what the character loses if they fail. If the worst outcome is mild disappointment, the audience has little reason to worry. Make the stakes personal before you make them bigger: people can't fear for "humanity", but they can fear for one person they care about. Let the audience see a taste of the loss early. See chapter 2.
Urgency is the reason the goal has to be pursued now, and a clock turns a wish into a race. Show the audience the danger, then show the time running out. Once you set a clock, keep it consistent so the audience can watch it run down. See chapter 3, "The Bomb Under the Table".
Often because they are passive and the plot just happens to them. Try the stay-home test: if the hero stayed home, would the story fall apart? If not, they aren't driving it. A hero can be reluctant, but at some point they have to choose, and the strongest heroes cause the very problem they have to solve. See chapter 4.
Heroes win people over through care, respect or enjoyment, and the strongest earn at least two of the three. A serious flaw needs a counter: punish it, reveal the heart underneath, or make it fun to watch. Suffering earns sympathy when it comes from the hero's own choices. See chapter 6.
The Lie is a false belief a character holds about themselves or the world, usually without knowing it, taught to them by an old wound. The want is what they chase; the need is the truth they have to accept, and it is usually the opposite of the Lie. The strongest stories let the Lie cause the trouble in the first place. See chapter 8.
Give the villain a reason that makes sense to them, and if you can, let part of their argument be true. The hero and villain should want things that can't both happen, and the best villains are often built from the hero's own fear or flaw. Keep the threat consistent from scene to scene. See chapter 10.
A scene is a small fight with a result: someone wants something, something stands in the way, and by the end the situation has changed. If a scene could be cut without losing anything, it is only a moment of information. Give someone something to fight for, or cut it. See chapter 15.
Every claim a story makes about a character is a promise, and showing is how you keep it. For each claim, ask where the proof is. Small, specific actions and objects often reveal more than pages of dialogue, and once you have shown something, don't explain it as well. See chapter 16.
A good twist makes the audience think "I should have seen that coming", while a bad one makes them think "where did that come from?" The difference is whether the clues were on screen. A twist also only works if the audience cares about what is being twisted. See chapter 18.
The middle often fails to deliver the fun of the premise and then complicate it. Give the audience what the premise promised, then make it go wrong. A midpoint, whether a false victory or a false defeat, changes the story's direction and often breaks the hero's Plan A, turning them from reacting to acting. See chapter 21.
Satisfying endings settle the outside conflict and the inside one, ideally in the same moment, so the hero wins because they have changed. The hero has to face the true opponent and do the hard part themselves. The story has to earn the ending. See chapter 23.
No. Story formulas are observations about what audiences respond to, written down and given names. Snyder's beat sheet, Truby's twenty-two steps and Harmon's story circle show the same basic shape from different angles. Write first, then use a formula to diagnose what is missing. See chapter 24.
Making Stories on a Small Budget
5 questions
Start with a list of what you already have: places you can use for free, people who can act or are interesting on camera, objects, vehicles, skills and time. Then write a story where those things are the whole point, so nothing on screen looks like a compromise. See chapter 40, "Write What You Can Shoot".
Often, yes. In Clerks, the shop could only be filmed at night, so the story explained the dark windows: someone had jammed gum into the shutter locks. In Rocky, the production couldn't afford extras for a skating rink, so the rink in the film is empty, which made the first date feel private. When a limit is forced on you, ask whether the story can explain it. See chapter 40.
Many of the best low-budget films take place over a short time, in few locations, with a small cast, and lean on things that cost nothing: tension, secrets, dialogue, performance and sound. Fewer characters means more time with each one, and a single location forces you to find tension in people instead of scenery. See chapter 40.
On what people feel. Good sound and good actors do more for a small film than an expensive camera. See chapter 40.
What the audience can't see frightens them more than what they can. A jump scare is only the release, so build the dread first, and give the audience someone they are afraid to lose. A single clear rule can carry a whole film. See chapter 34.
Short Videos, Series and Pitching
4 questions
Yes. The same rules work at short lengths: the shorter the piece, the simpler the arc and the more each moment has to carry. When you film real life, one sentence about what you want people to feel tells you what to shoot and what to cut. A person on a journey holds attention far longer than pretty footage. See chapter 38, "The Same Rules Work in Sixty Seconds".
A logline sums up your story in one sentence: a specific hero, what they are trying to do, what stands in their way and why it matters. If you can't write it, you may not know your story yet. See chapter 42.
A series needs an engine: a situation that keeps producing new stories without wearing out. Protect the engine. Open questions and distinct relationships bring people back, as long as the show answers some of those questions along the way. See chapter 37.
A sequel should be possible only because the first story happened. New faces and places are cosmetic; real change reaches the relationships, the purpose and the stakes. A remake needs a reason to exist and should still work for someone who has never met the original. See chapter 39.
Read: Why Do Sequels Fail? · Read: Disney Live-Action Remakes
Dialogue, Actors and Revision
4 questions
Nobody says exactly what they mean. Subtext is the gap between what is said and what is meant, and it runs on conflict: if both people in a scene want the same thing, there is nothing under the words. Hide the feeling without burying it, so the audience can sense it. See chapter 28.
Feelings can't be played on command, so give actors a reason, a want or an obstacle and the emotion follows. The life of a scene is "I want this, but...". Objectives, obstacles and changing tactics give actors something to do from beat to beat. See chapter 29.
It is supposed to be. The films people remember best usually began as drafts nobody would want to watch, and they got good through many rounds of revision. Perfectionism keeps you from finishing and pushes you toward safe ideas. Show rough work to people you trust, and if several of them stumble at the same place, fix it. See chapter 41.
Run it through the seven core questions of the free checklist: whose story it is, what they want, why now, what stands in the way, what the choice costs, what changes, and whether everything on screen earns its place. The questions come from the checklist in chapter 43 of the book, and the checklist is free.
Get the free story checklist.
Turn these answers into questions you can run on your own story.